


Kaleidoscopic (Bold as Love)

by Left_Handed_Rick



Series: Bold as Love [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: 4/20 Sin, Abuse Aftermath, Adaptive Coping, Addiction recovery, Body Worship, Breaking cycles of abuse, Emotional Dysregulation, Escapism, Hurt/Comfort, Interrupting Behavior Patterns, M/M, Major Depressive Disorder, Maladaptive Coping, Mental Illness, Music Store AU, Psychedelia, Record store au, Relapse, Sensory kink, Starry Citadel AU, Substance Abuse, Trauma, Weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Rick/pseuds/Left_Handed_Rick
Summary: “Let’s just take the colors that we can.”
Relationships: Morty/Trauma, Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez & Rick Sanchez, Rick Sanchez/Depression, Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Music, Rick Sanchez/Weed
Series: Bold as Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1507205
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Interconnected Fics from The Starry Citadel AU





	Kaleidoscopic (Bold as Love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icantstopsinning](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=icantstopsinning).



> _Happy 51st anniversary of the[Monterey International Pop Music Festival](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monterey_Pop_Festival) (The [musical event ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0pyDTnxB8ptjPykf1buaWB?si=dThhOJbUQoyAsnHcjvioRQ)that kicked off 1967’s Summer of Love) Orgy and I decided to dedicate this fic to [icantstopsinning ](https://icantstopsinning.tumblr.com/)and the Rick & Morty shippers who love that sweet, sweet psychedelic sin._   
> 
> 
> ### Author’s Note/Introduction:
> 
> This fic is a continuation of [Take Me to Church](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/tmtc.html), but you _should_ be able to jump right into this story without being entirely lost. If you can handle some heavy fucking angst, I’d recommend reading TMTC. For both new and returning readers, I've dropped some more detailed fic notes on the fic page, but don't worry, this fic on the comfort side of hurt/comfort.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“There is no Dark Side of The Moon. It's any color that you like."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, musicology & endnotes can be found on the [ fic page! ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/kaleidoscopic.html)

R woke to the sensation of a thumb gently tracing the outline of his lips in focused, silent meditation. Lulled to waking at the sensation, R reluctantly opened his eyes, unbelieving that he could be touched with such care and tenderness outside of the ethereal space of his dreams.

But it was real.

Morty’s eyes lifted to reunite with R’s, and the teen offered a welcoming smile into the beautiful and strange reality that had suddenly become the foundation of their new life.

R drew himself closer to Morty, and the smell of his crimson hair was sharp and vivid against his senses. He buried himself into Morty’s presence, finding the curve of his neck where his own slipped perfectly into. The contact of their skin evoked a sudden overwhelming sensation of fulfillment and it moved with the surreal feeling of a waking-dream between them.

When R woke up, Morty was still there.

Despite the throbbing pain of a headache that climbed with the morning’s hangover, R held his eyes open and felt the vibrations of Morty’s living presence as his voice sighed out against R's skin in a vibrant song. A hum of morning wakefulness followed Morty's lips, vibrating against R’s neck with the resonant tone of a tuning fork as it traveled through R's body and tightened his heartstrings.

Music Morty, a living presence of kaleidoscopic sound and color, embraced R with an overwhelming song of love, and at the sudden closeness which had been found in the fragmented vulnerable spaces between them, R had to remind himself to breathe.

“Morty,” The prayer slipped between them as a whisper; spilling itself from the brilliant sound of R’s beating heart.

He reached out, pressing the palm of his hand into Morty’s cheek with a gentle caress. Morty’s skin —warm and soft and inviting— reflected the gesture, pressing back into its open shape.

“You… you took off your shirt.” R suddenly realized the absence of fabric between them and immediately felt a blush burn his skin at the significance of something so seemingly ordinary. But that piece of fabric held a weight R hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. To see that for even a moment, Morty had been able to set that burden down left R in wordless awe.

Morty said nothing in response to R’s observation. Instead, he pressed their bodies back together and smiled against the older man’s skin. R remembered to breathe and clenched his eyes shut to quell the usual racing thoughts, refusing to let them permeate this moment. Refusing to let them slip into the spaces between them.

With the rotation of another day on the Citadel, R’s thoughts continued to chaotically spin, but for the first time in his life, they broke away from his mental orbit and unceremoniously echoed into the dark recesses of Church.

R trembled with revelation as he clung to Morty’s presence like a symbol of faith—the kind that could conquer any amount of darkness. In its presence, R was capable of living in the present moment. He was capable of practicing love.

Existentially disoriented by the thought, R gazed toward the ceiling of Church as a sudden stranger in his own strange life. 

Between them, Morty shared another urgent musical sigh as he rolled the shape of his hips against R’s thigh. A small hand wrapped around his waist and R felt the hard presence of the teen’s erection press into him. R’s gaze returned to take in Morty’s near-naked body, clothed by only a pair of boxers, and he felt his own erection twitch and swell in response.

He suppressed a lustful groan, growing more aware of his sober, yet hungover state of consciousness with each waking second. Unsure of himself, he moved his hand from Morty’s naked shoulder to his waist, then to his cheek, before finally settling somewhere between affection and intimacy. He lightly ruffled the strands of his red hair.

Morty chuckled at the gesture as his thumb caressed the older man’s skin before suggestively tightening around it.

“Do you…?” Morty began and R swallowed at the open-ended invitation, blushing in embarrassment as his body betrayed the sober thoughts he was trying to keep in-mind. They were conveniently interrupted, however, by the sensation of a full bladder— painfully throbbing with a mixture of arousal and the need for some kind of physical release.

“Fuck.” R cupped a hand over his partial erection, and immediately pushed himself to a sitting position. He let out a heady, sexually frustrated, and far too sober groan, “I-I gotta go take a piss!”

Morty snorted at the obvious excuse, falling away from R’s body with another lighthearted chuckle as R rose to his feet with a strategically placed palm. His throat ran dry as he glanced back down to Morty, sprawled over the shag carpet of church. He shyly blushed when he caught R staring at him, but then shamelessly bit his lip as he mutually took in the sight of R.

 _Fuck_.

“Sorry,” R tried to think of a reasonable explanation, “My uh. My morning routine…Can’t wait.”

They both knew R was full of shit, but it was good enough because Morty didn't challenge it. He quickly turned away from Morty feeling the teen roll his eyes after him as he made his way to the bathroom before he could change his mind.

With heavy breaths, R leaned against the wall with his hand, burying his forehead into the crook of his elbow as he tried to aim the stream of his piss with a rock-hard erection.

“Fuuuuuck!” He groaned at the physical release of his bladder, as his thoughts vibrantly glimmered with the sounds and sights and colors of Music Morty. His naked smile; his melodic voice; his crimson hair and clover eyes that bloomed like the dankest bud. The affirming touch of their physical bodies that was so terrifyingly real it still felt like he were imagining it.

R wanted Morty. Morty wanted him. That thought alone was enough to send R’s thoughts barreling into a messy exuberant orgasm. He bit his lip as he finished pissing into the toilet, and quickly stroked himself into the second physical release of his body with another groan of relief.

He settled his forehead in the crook of his elbow to catch his breath, staring into the uninviting afterglow of the toilet bowl. R sighed, momentarily regretful that he had run away, but whatever was happening between them R wanted it. He wanted it enough to try his hardest not to fuck it up.

The ominous feeling of fear drifted through the deep-space of R thoughts, and with a prolonged searching breath, he willed them to return to the earlier feeling of love.

Agreeing to make love had been a pretty vague promise, and unintended, it was a promise that was now making every interaction between them feel overwhelmingly charged with eroticism. R was entirely unsure of how to deal with it.

More sober than he’d ever been on the Citadel, R watched the morning’s physical high regrettably swirl into the toilet’s flush. Within the morning’s sobriety existed a terrifying uncertainty on where exactly they stood with each other.

He supposed he _could_ let Morty set the pace of whatever was unfolding between them, but Morty had been with one too many shitty Ricks (himself included). His motivations for sex and physical intimacy were all over the fucking map, and putting him in complete control over something he might not even have an awareness of seemed like a bad fucking idea.

R, on the other hand, could already feel the overwhelming pull of Morty’s captivating siren call. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his willpower was eventually going to lapse. R _already_ wanted to lose himself in the mind-blowing high that was Music Morty’s presence, and already transfixed by the redhead’s captivating demeanor, R didn’t trust himself to set a responsible pace either.

Regardless of who tried to take the lead with this, and how, they were both bound to be fucked. There was no way this _wasn’t_ going to blow up in their faces if they didn’t find a way to talk before jumping into the deep end.

Following R's alcoholic bender and botched suicide attempt, however, R didn’t know if it was the right time to talk to Morty about the dark thoughts already weighing on his mind.

He sucked in a stream of air, remembering to breathe.

One thing at a time.

· ✦ ·

R’s pace slowed as he climbed the stairs of the Record Store beneath the effervescent multi-colored flecks of prismatic light. He stopped to fully take in the now interrupted narratives of his previously lonely life.

Morty’s presence was chaotic and messy and loud; exploding across the space of the record store to make itself unapologetically known. R smiled, remembering the first day Morty had come back to the record store. Wholly unaware, he had crashed down the illusions of control R had so meticulously crafted. He was a beautiful fucking apocalypse.

R’s eyes turned to the pieces of his Goldring, strewn about the floor of the record store. A bittersweet sense of peace—the color of heavyhearted relief—settled over him. The choice had been so violently taken out of his control that the dark spiraling emotions of his old spinning records had felt as if they too had been simultaneously purged.

R would have never been able to let it go of his own will.

And with his thoughts still exhilarating in simultaneous awareness and disbelief of that personal revelation, R continued up the stairs on whatever new trajectory his life was now turning on.

 _Something_ had changed.

“Hey kid, want some coffee?” R shouted down the stairs, and Morty emerged from church, pulling his head through the shackle of his red shirt with a yawn. He hummed and nodded his head murmuring something about needing to go to work soon.

Distracted, R’s gaze had fixated onto the image of the noose beside him. It hung threateningly still against the backdrop of illuminated fragments as if the moment had been unsettlingly frozen in time. R swallowed, not ready to think about it.

A small hand fell against his still-naked lower back, immediately pulling R’s mind from the abyss. He glanced over his shoulder to find that Morty had caught up to him, and was urging him to continue up the stairs.

“I’ll make the coffee,” Morty willed R’s naked body in the direction of his bed as he turned his own body toward the kitchenette with a blush, “Just. Put some clothes on.”

R stepped over to the small space of his bedroom only to be welcomed by a putrefying wall of scent. His eyes skimmed the drying puddle of puke from the night before and the various items he had drunkenly knocked into disarray. He reached down to retrieve his Pink Floyd shirt from the hardwood, giving it an unhopeful sniff before tossing it back to the floor in disappointment.

He reluctantly turned toward the rack of shirts, reaching for another adjustment in his routine. Grumbling, he slipped on a fresh pair of pants before pulling a Grateful Dead shirt over his head. He pulled the fabric away from his chest, examining the design with an uneasy frown. He uncomfortably smoothed his hands over the skeletal and floral design.

_Grateful Dead described the soul of a dead man, who expressed gratitude toward the charity of those still living who hadn’t forgotten about him._

Last night, R was dead.

This morning, Morty’s act of love had brought him back to life.

And for that, R would be eternally grateful.

He turned around to find Morty watching him with an intense gaze. His eyes shamelessly caressed R’s body as Morty bit his lip, and without a doubt undressed him all over again. But as they lifted to R’s curious expression, Morty exchanged an embarrassed glance and quickly distracted himself with the coffee he was supposed to be making.

“What?” R questioned, staring back down at his shirt. Maybe it had been a bad change of clothes after all.

“N-nothing!” Morty’s cheeks and ears turned red as he nearly dropped the carafe from his hands, and R’s breath shallowed at the color as it circulated beneath the redhead's skin. Both of them had woken with dawn surprises, and R was certain that Morty had also fucked the shape of his fist while listening to R doing the same, not even a room apart.

Morty heard everything because R, not used to another body occupying his physical space, habitually left the bathroom door open.

R swallowed hard at the thought, feeling the blush already spreading into his denim jeans.

_They were so fucked._

“What?” Morty questioned as R stared at the redhead in turn, working through his thoughts with a sexually frustrated furrowed brow.

“N-Nothing!” R kicked his Pink Floyd shirt over the warming pile of puke and stepped across the small studio space into the kitchenette.

R continued to move into the fully unsettled possibility of his future. Of sharing this broken life with another, equally broken human being. He wrapped his hand around the curve of Morty’s shoulder as he passed.

The record store owner had always enjoyed his morning routine. There was something comforting in the knowledge that even the Citadel still spun. That, subjectively, R had chosen to make it rotate by continuing to spin an existence within it. He controlled the illusion of time’s passage within the comfort of his daily routines.

But R was only ever as in control as R believed himself to be. He counted two fried eggs. Two slices of avocado toast. Two almost spilled cups of coffee. Two shaking plates being set onto the surface of a small kitchen table. Two individuals sitting at it to share a meal. Two existences occupying an irreversible moment in space-time.

Sober on the Citadel, R could feel time passing in excruciating existential seconds.

He could feel Morty’s eyes on him and R’s gaze flicked toward the teen to find him studying R’s movements with a curious and silent expression. R had never truly allowed Morty to see him like this—sober and outside of church. He wondered what the teen would begin to think of him now that he had.

R remembered to breathe.

They attempted to eat in focused silence, but it wasn’t long before increasingly on-edge and unable to finish his meal, R pushed his plate to the side without an appetite. This new reality in which he’d found himself completely sober in was starting to overwhelm whatever peace he’d initially found.

He took a long sip of his coffee, catching Morty’s absent gaze from the corner of his eyes. The redhead’s line of sight had similarly drifted beyond the moment of their shared meal, and his expression seemed miles away in time-space.

He was gazing into the chaotic abyss just over the precipice of R's loft.

It had always been there, but their dark forebodings had made the kaleidoscopic dimension of sound and color insanely visible; illuminated in every way, shape, and form. The Dark Side of The Moon was something Morty had joined R in being able to see. And R wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

Without thinking, R reached across the small space between them, taking Morty’s hand as he stitched their fingers together. He gently pulled the redhead’s thoughts away from the ledge, and Morty returned to examine R with eyes in a way that momentarily appeared to see right through him.

R held Morty’s gaze and realized it was because _they had_.

“You okay?” Morty bluntly asked, and R reached for his own mug of coffee stalling for time. He gazed into the black liquid, contemplating the question he’d never really known how to answer. But if Morty could already see what was on the Dark Side of the Moon...maybe R no longer needed to hide in it.

“I… I dunno. I’m somewhere over the rainbow this morning. Feeling a lot of colors and can’t really land on one—keeps shifting around.” R rambled out the confession running anxious fingers through his hair, “I-It’s an emotional fucking kaleidoscope, 'N' I’m still kind of reeling from it. It’s a trip.”

“Yeah,” Morty agreed, joining R in a mutual sigh of relief, "Me too. It’s starting to get weird."

“One thing’s for sure.” R abandoned his food at the table as he rose to his feet, “Been sober way too fucking long this morning. I’m goin’ downstairs to get high off my ass and feel some good music...”

R awkwardly shared Morty’s gaze, still uncertain of what he wanted or needed right now, “...you wanna join?”

Morty was already rising from his chair to follow R, “Oh Jeez. I thought you’d never ask.”

· ✦ ·

R carted his cup of coffee down the stairs and poked his head through the storefront’s glass door. He frowned to discover that there was no Rick or Morty standing outside to hook him up. R took another deep breath before gulping down another sip of not-nearly-strong-enough caffeine. He needed some stronger shit, and soon.

He could do this. R was determined to carpe the mother-fucking-diem out of this new day.

He left the sign flipped to “closed” and retreated back into the record store, setting out with a determined focus to gather his scattered collection of glass. He piled the mountain of ware onto the lobby’s lounge table and Morty joined R as the stoner fell onto the couch with a purposeful razor blade in hand.

“Aw Jeez, R,” Morty was momentarily concerned at the sight of a razorblade in R’s hand and R frowned at the unspoken implication as the teen questioned him, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m scraping resin!” R rolled his eyes as he began to work on the first pipe’s bowl. He inserted the bladed edge into the glass, cutting out the sappy residue which had built up inside of it. “This is why you save your glass, Morty.”

Morty watched R with a furrowed brow. His lip curled as the thought of smoking it entered into his mind, “Is that stuff really gonna get us high?”

“Fuck, I hope so. It’s better than nothing. Rick and Silent Morty aren’t squatting the porch.” R scraped the bowl of his workhorse piece as he explained, “Tastes like shit, but desperate times.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. It's weird.” Morty turned to look through the storefront’s glass before returning his attention to R. Morty leaned his head over R’s arm as he watched the older man silently work, and R felt some of the tension in his muscles relax. He was thankful the teen wasn’t asking a lot of him this morning, or this afternoon or whatever the hell time it was on the Citadel by now.

R was determined to not let himself think about time until he at least took a few solid hits, but the glass shards of the prism had unapologetically illuminated the entire record store with everything that had transpired between them over the duration of their shared amount of it.

It was a constant reminder of every broken thing about them still hanging by a fragile thread of hope, and R and Morty promised each other that everyday they would see it. R felt like he had put his exposed emotional nerves on display for how vulnerable the transformed space had suddenly made him feel.

Flecks of light fell across his hands and the mountain of glassware as R worked; their colors beautifully catching against the translucent surfaces. R was thankful for the distraction as he worked through the repetitive scritchy knife noises, allowing them to cut into his senses as his anxiety only continued to grow. Morty shifted closer to R as he began to load the glob of resin into the bowl of one of his least favorite pipes.

“D-Don’t ever use drugs like I use 'em Morty.” R felt the need to suddenly confess to the teen as he flicked the lighter to life, “When you’re this desperate, they're not fun anymore–”

R grimaced as he burned the already blackened pearl of scavenged oil. He sucked in the residue of previous highs as a tar-like smell wafted into the air between them. R held the carcinogenic smoke of nostalgia in his lungs and passed the pipe and lighter to the redhead, who was clearly weighing his own thoughts on _how much he actually wanted to get high_. As if _standards_ were something Morty would no longer have after choosing to toke resin.

“Isn’t the carbon bad for you?” Morty asked, looking for a good reason.

Just as R was about to reply the storefront door chimed open. Rick and Silent Morty had invited themselves into the “we’re closed” space of the record store. With mouths agape, they glanced around the chromatically chaotic space as they stepped deeper into it. Silent Morty instinctively reached a hand overhead to thread his fingers through the luminescent bursts of light and color.

 _“Monday Monday,_ Baby!” Rick bobbed his head in approval before glancing toward R and Music Morty. He complimented the change with an earnest grin as his silent partner nodded in agreement.

“Shit’s fucking lit!”

Rick’s eyes passed over the noose and his eyes momentarily darkened before returning to R and Music Morty with a reticent expression. Music Morty smiled, timidly looking toward R who kept his gaze on Rick. Morty scooted across the couch as Rick and Silent Morty joined their session.

Rick practically threw himself on the sofa beside R, while his silent partner quietly lowered himself onto a stool beside Morty. R frowned at the Rick’s sudden disregard for personal space. His dealers had been suspiciously absent from R’s doorstep this morning, and it was the kind of change in their routine that R couldn’t help notice. Something had changed.

“Wh-What is this?” R cut to the chase, gesturing toward the overt demonstration of Rickspreading. R shifted his gaze to Silent Morty who hurried to distract himself by tucking his backpack between his legs.

“Ugh,” R rolled his eyes before returning them to Rick, waiting for a verbal answer. Rick, however, silently gestured his eyes and chin toward the noose still hanging from the ceiling before returning them to R with a glare of his own.

“The fuck is that?” He confronted R, and the space between them grew tense.

R folded his arms in a huff, not wanting to talk about it. They had taken their sweet-ass time _knowing_ how desperate R would be to get high by the time they decided to show the fuck up.

R’s eyes followed Rick’s movements with dedicated impatience as his dealer seemingly read R’s mind. He pushed a chunk of glassware aside, making room on the lounge table as he reached for his jacket pocket. Instead of revealing to R something that could get him high, however, Ray placed a Book of Morty onto the table in front of them.

R groaned, palming a hand over his forehead. He wasn’t high enough for this shit. He snatched the pipe back from Morty who _clearly_ didn’t appreciate resin for the desperate high that it still was and took another hit. He coughed out a cloud that smelled distinctly of disapproval.

“Look.” He coughed, “I don’t need a fucking intervention from you—”

“—Nah R, this one isn’t _for you.”_ Rick suddenly cut R off with a threatening glare, “I'm here to tell you why _my Morty_ quit hustling the hard shit.”

R stole a timid glance toward Silent Morty who was also nervously avoiding eye contact with the record store owner. He fidgeted with the claps of his jacket, visibly uncomfortable with the confrontation his partner was intentionally escalating on his behalf.

Rick suggestively lifted his worn-down shoe onto the edge of R’s coffee table and pressed _just enough_ weight against it to make R nervous. The rubber sole of Rick’s shoe fell away from the foot, and it flopped it’s weight onto the hard surface as R’s collection of glass pipes nervously shifted against each other.

Rick made sure that he had R’s full, undivided attention before continuing. “He was tired of selling to Rick’s who destroyed themselves with it!”

“Ugh. Look.” R defensively coughed out another cloud of smoke before passing the pipe back to Morty. The redhead returned the pipe to the table with the rest, having abandoned the idea of smoking resin from the moment R’s dealers showed up. _Apparently_ , Music Morty still had _standards_ , and R frowned at the irrational jealousy that it stirred.

“I dunno where you’re going with this, but just leave the weed out of it,” R sulked, “It wasn’t the weed’s fault I tried to fucking hang myself!”

Music Morty’s mouth opened as if to speak, but Silent Morty placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him out of it. Rick pressed his mouth into a hard line and R clenched his teeth and grumbled out a sound of continuous frustration, recognizing that he had said something wrong. He didn’t want to think about this. He just wanted to get high.

“What’s it even matter to you!” R challenged feeling way too emotionally over-exposed.

He wasn't stupid. Rick was only being an asshole to R because R had been an asshole to his Morty. R fled from his argument with Rick, turning to notice the pair of matching expressions on the faces beside them.

Music Morty fidgeted with the hem of his red shirt, unsure about the entire conversation that was happening in front of them, but was too intimidated by the sight of the two Rick’s arguing to interrupt. Silent Morty had folded his arms over himself and was staring hard into the ground in a passive-aggressive tantrum. Both of them refused to look at R, and he sighed, feeling outnumbered as Rick gave voice to their concerns.

 _“What’s it matter to me?”_ Rick studied the flecks of light on the walls before turning to glare at R with a renewed intensity. He offered a point-blank confession, “Cause I’m fucking sick of watching myself die!”

With nowhere to run, R closed his eyes, and tilted his gaze up toward the ceiling. _Fuck interventions._ The morning’s headache had returned, pushing the lifeblood through his still pounding thoughts. His chest tightened as he stared at the noose hanging above him, not ready or wanting to face the mess he had planned—and spectacularly failed—to leave behind.

He broke his gaze away from the ceiling with another groan and turned to Silent Morty. The only way out was through.

After this. He was _really_ gonna need to get high.

“Morty, look.” Both Morty’s head’s snapped to attention, and R shrunk beneath the pair of more sad-than-disappointed-with-him gazes. He was trying to offer a palatable version of honesty, but R honestly didn’t feel ready to apologize. He’d be apologizing for something that didn’t feel like it was entirely over.

It didn’t take a genius, however, to see the fallout of his shit-choices when they were staring him in the face.

“I-I fucked up.”

R remembered to breathe. He pushed the hair from his eyes and returned his gaze toward the empty noose. The frozen moment of time somehow felt ubiquitous, and R didn’t know how to talk to Morty about that sobering truth. He didn’t even know how to begin explaining that reality to the first person who had begged him to continue living.

He didn’t know how to confess that despite everything, it still seemed like an entirely practical option.

Despite his earnest effort, R was struggling to regulate his kaleidoscopic emotions. The lingering dark thought that had been turning in the back of his mind was the grim awareness that he had chosen _not_ to die, and while he felt content with that decision, R rose, extremely reluctant to tackle the Sisyphean work of showing up in life the next day, and every day after.

The noose was an option that would always be hanging over his head, even as R kept choosing to do the work of living.

“I _really_ fucked up…” He confessed a second time.

He eventually fucked everything up, but R didn’t want to fuck this all up on _day one_. That would be a new record even for him. He withheld the remainder of his thoughts, not wanting them to take over his day. He remembered to breathe.

“But right now.” R began, trying to explain without giving away how truly fragile everything still felt to him, “I’m on a bad trip. Still trying to come down."

R stared at the mountain of dirty glass pipes as his sober thoughts cast them into an unglamorous light. Maybe it was time to cut back.

"...I-I-It’s too much to talk about right now...” Finally, R confessed.

“—You're good, R.” Silent Morty mumbled, causing Music Morty to jump at the sound of his own voice. The silent teen, however, offered nothing more, and instead returned to silence as he fidgeted his fingers. He looked at the redhead who turned to R and nodded in agreement with his interdimensional counterpart.

Rick stared at the pair of Morty’s with a satisfied grin before reaching toward the Religious Text he had brought.

“You just need the power of a Morty on your side, man.” Rick flipped the cover open to reveal a hollowed-out stash box in the good book. In it, a small baggie of brown nuggets that looked suspiciously like pieces of cat shit were packed inside.

R lifted his eyebrow, apprehensively glancing toward the weed before shifting his gaze back to the bowl of uninspired resin. He bit his tongue and sulked, resenting how desperate he was to get high. He was willing to spare a few moments of his time to hear about the Good Morty if there was a chance of it bringing him closer to some good kush.

“Yeah, R!" Rick gestured to the weed cradled in the hallowed out scripture, "Eternal blessings ‘n’ all that shit! _Only the soil of Earth can reject the soiling of Rick’s_ —That’s what this spiritual shit says!—No joke! It’s preaching about Earth-weed, man. Change my fuckin’ mind.”

R lifted a curious eyebrow at the plant's designation. It was rare to come across a bud he didn’t recognize, but if it was from Rick’s personal stash, then it was guaranteed dank. He refused to take the bait, however. Rick was clearly leading up to something with this, and R was too on edge this morning to fully lean into it.

“Ugh. I’m not drinking the kool-aid of some Rick-step program or whatever you think Mortyism is supposed to be.” Rick probably would have just ruined a good high by talking about all that One True Morty shit anyways.

“Oh shit, you’ve got it all wrong, R. This nickel ain’t for you.” Rick lifted the bag from the book’s compartment and casually tossed it into Music Morty’s chest, "I've been saving it for a _good Morty."_

Morty slapped the bag of weed over his chest as he caught it, cradling it with a confused expression. Rick cocked his head toward Morty while keeping an unflinching gaze fixed on R.

“That’s his.” Ricks’s eyes narrowed toward R, “You're cut off.”

Before R could raise his voice and kick the duo out of the record store, Morty intervened.

“Aw Jeez, Rick. I uh.” Morty stammered, uncertain about getting in between the two Ricks as he shifted his gaze nervously between them.

“Isn’t that a bit much?" Morty began, staring at the shit-colored rosebuds in his hands, "For R, I mean? Y'know, cause like, he smokes. Uh, a lot.”

Rick offered a beaming smile to Morty before continuing, “Nah, Mort. I think it's just right. It's only gonna be your problem if you let R take advantage of what we're giving you.”

Rick turned to R, and his stare was as hard as the dick move he was pulling to make a point.

_The lengths he went for his silent partner._

Silent Morty had already forgiven R, but Rick didn't believe in forgiveness. Like R, he only believed in consequences, and it wasn’t about Silent Morty anymore. Rick's vibe was as clear as the meaning of the good book he'd opened this bit with: _Don’t fuck with my Morty._

“ _You, Morty—"_ Rick emphasized the word, making sure that R picked up on the very clear implications, "—can buy from us anytime."

R cursed and took the bait. “Yeah, real smooth move. _I’m_ irresponsible for wanting to hang myself, but you don’t see _any problem_ with forcing Morty to buy my illegal supply?”

Rick shrugged, “As long as it's not bringing heat? Whatever Music Mort does with our business and his weed? It's got nothing to do with us."

R folded his arms, fuming, "Oh, _so now_ you decide you're gonna act like dealers."

Rick turned his attention to Morty, intentionally ignoring R, "We're down to deal with you, Morty, and R knows as well as we do that if you’re gonna smoke (and you ain’t gonna be getting it from R anymore), you're safest buying from us."

Rick paused again on R’s name for added effect, “'N' I'm gonna be straight with you, Morty, _R_ 's gonna be best off if he can build a relationship with you.”

Morty was frozen in place, caught between a Rick and a hard place. R rolled his eyes and leaned back into the sofa. There was no way they were serious about this. Rick continued to lay some ground rules with the teen.

“Trust goes both ways: you don’t bring the drama to us and we don’t bring the heat to you. If we find out R or any Rick’s taking advantage of your connection? It’s not gonna be personal, just business. That kind of shit is too much of a risk and we’ll have to cut you off too. Got it?”

Morty swallowed, still clutching the bag of weed against his chest. He looked terrified. The last thing they needed was for the business side of drugs to put a strain on whatever had just started forming between them.

R pursed his lip in a silent pout. On the other hand, maybe it was better.

“Morty.” R interrupted, reluctantly giving Morty his blessing. “These are the only two dealers I trust in Sanchez Slums. Take their business. They’ll look out for you.”

R glared at the mountain of glassware on his lounge table as he sulked into the nearly imperceptible resin high of his thoughts. Morty didn't get the transaction that was happening right now, but R did. Rick was offering Morty more than access to drugs. He was extending an offer to be part of Morty’s support system, and for Rick, the first order of business was putting Morty in control of R’s supply.

R burned with guilt at the unspoken understanding. It had nothing to do with drugs. After this morning, Rick's actions spoke louder than his words, and the dealer honestly didn’t think R was stable enough to use responsibly. At the same time, he also didn’t think Morty would be able to handle R on his own.

In a single transaction, he'd taken a number of precautions, ensuring that Morty knew he and his silent partner would be around.

“Keep the porch.” R bitterly threw the offer onto the table, hoping Rick would understand the unspoken implication of understanding from him. The squat spot had been part of _their_ original deal, and R could try and take it back, but he didn't want to.

R didn't _have_ to play along with their shit. He could have found a new supply, but that wasn’t what Rick and Silent Morty truly wanted. They wanted to support R and Music Morty in the only way they knew how. He never wanted to think of them as friends, but R couldn't deny the motivations for involving themselves so deeply in their lives.

R reluctantly agreed with their conclusion. It would be better for both him and Music Morty if they stuck around.

Rick stared at Music Morty and studied the teen’s expression for a long, uninterrupted moment, and R watched their silent communication with a shade of renewed jealousy as the teen’s expression shifted from terrified, to indecisive, then finally to something that seemed focused and determined. He pursed his lips and nodded toward Rick, accepting the Dealer’s offer.

“It's not like I'm not gonna whore myself out to Morty just to get high!" R sulked on his sofa. This was the shittiest fucking day ever, "I have standards!"

"Do me a favor.” Rick winked toward Music Morty, “Make him beg for the good kush. I'll even give you a discount."

"Oh Jeez I—" Morty face immediately flushed as he rushed to defend the stoner, "I uh. I think that. He’s—R's ambidextrous!"

Rick bust out laughing at Music Morty's words, and even Silent Morty snorted beside him. R sank further into the sofa, feeling himself burning in embarrassment. He just wanted to get high.

Rick caught R's glowering expression and finally decided he'd made his point. He changed the subject

"Lemme tell you about this weed, Mort."

“Uh, okay. I mean what kind of strain is it?” Despite his shit-attitude, R couldn’t help but smile at Morty who had remembered to ask because of their previous lessons. He glanced toward the pipe of his half-finished resin bowl on the table. Honestly? It didn't even matter what kind of strain it was at this point. Weed was weed.

Rick chuckled as he offered a shit-eating grin to R, still taking his sweet-ass time to deliver the punch he'd spent the entire morning building up to. He was thoroughly enjoying every minute of this. He shrugged, trying to play off it's value.

“Eh, it’s just some dirt weed called Cannadide. Contraband from Glorzo.”

R’s gaze shot up at the name as he unfolded his arms in shock and lifted himself back up in his seat. He hastily glanced toward Rick as his mouth fell open, salivating. Anything from Glorzo was rare: organic and produced in limited runs.

“Fuck.” R heard himself let out a heady curse. He drooled as he spoke through suddenly heavy breaths. He wasn't even ashamed of his body's physical reaction to it, “That’s from Glorzo?”

Ambidextrous or not, R would be willing to do a number of questionable things to get his hands on some of those Earth-strain nugs.

“Yep.” Rick couldn’t help the smug expression that was spreading across his face. He stretched, tucking his hands behind his head, “And wouldn't you know? That baggie's from the last batch of the growing season.”

"Really?" Morty asked, having no idea the value of the bud Rick had just given him. If R wasn’t so close to it he would have been angry at Morty's ignorance. Morty examined the bag of condensed brown nuggets, unimpressed, "A-are the growing seasons long?"

"Hoh yeah." Rick laughed as R’s attention longingly shifted intermittently between Morty and the weed in his hands as Rick elaborated, “The buds only mature in time for Summerfest—It’s uh, a music festival that kicks off the Glorzo’s celebration of peace and love.”

Morty’s clover eyes lifted to find R, and the record store owner smiled as he thought of his first love. There was a fantastic cosmic sense that whatever the hippies had come together to achieve was universally right; they were so full of conviction that they realized they didn’t even need to fight, and instead trusted the moment’s vibrant energy of peace and love and harmony to take them on a wild ride, knowing the movement would inevitably prevail.

The Monterey Pop Festival kicked off the summer momentum and from there, the world rode the wave of the following cultural high, all the way through the summer of love.

R closed his eyes and hummed into the feeling it could still so fully evoke within him.

He’d never forget his first love; how experiencing it made him feel wholly at one with the entire universe, and beside him, Morty held the Glorzo’s political manifesto in his small hands as it’s very existence resonated and rippled with that emotion. Cosmically celebrating that same universal message: _Love wins._

“C-can I share it with R?”

Rick’s smirk widened as he pressed the corner of his book into Morty's chest and continued to empower him, “You’re your own person, Music Mort. It’s your weed.”

R huffed, rolling his eyes at the successful delivery of Rick's elaborate morning setup. _Of course,_ Morty was gonna share the Cannadide with him. Rick just wanted to put R at the mercy of Morty, all for the sake of showing off for his own.

"Ooh la la" R muttered under his breath, already counting down the excruciating seconds until they got out of his store so he could get high off his ass with Morty and chill the fuck out.

“Aw Jeez, Rick.” Still staring at the gift he had been given, Music Morty chewed his lip, and R momentarily panicked that the redhead was going to rescind the gift, feeling like it was too much. Music Morty turned to R with his decision. “If this weed really is that special. Y'know? The last of the Summer season? Can I, uh maybe. Can I share it with you and Morty too?”

R held his tongue. It was Morty's weed and being social was one of the questionable things he was willing to do to smoke with him.

Rick fell silent, surprised at the offer as his expression softened. He glanced across the table toward his equally silent partner, waiting for his input. Silent Morty nodded, and Rick returned a genuine smirk to Music Morty excited by the invitation.

“Hell yeah! Load it up, dawg!”

Morty’s eyes lit up, and he reached for his pick of R's pipes. He selected the absinthe bong cringing at the opaque color of water in the glass. The teen excused himself to change it out, and Rick offered a side-eye to R with a knowing shit-eating chuckle. Smug, he leaned back into the chair, enjoyably taking in the reshaped view of R's new life.

“Man, R. Life is really about the glorious little Morty things, amirite?”

“It’s a fucking cult! For _Mortys_.” R reiterated his earlier distaste for Citadel religion. In this stoner circle, the Good Kush was the _only_ thing R was gonna open his heart and soul to—and Maybe Morty, but that boy was practically a living bud all his own.

“Hey!” Rick defensively challenged R, “They don’t _own_ it. I take what I like, alright? You’ve got all types of weird kinky shit in there. The fuckin' roaches, man! It’s the kind of shit that really makes you think. I used to smoke from roach-clips all the time...”

R let out a long-beleaguered sigh. Now that Morty had his weed by the nuggets, R hoped this impromptu stoner circle shit wasn't going to become a regular thing for them. He buried his face into his palms at the thought. Social interaction was draining, and this conversation particularly grated against him because it wasn't about anything in particular. They were just passing time.

Finally, Music Morty returned to the table and went to work crushing up the weed, glancing around him nervously as everyone in the room watched on. He let out a surprised gasp as the condensed nuggets broke open to unfold hundreds of small white flowers. They bloomed against the oxygen and sun, opening their tiny petals to greet the teen.

Rick complimented his work before Morty had a chance to apologize for his nerves. He didn't wanna hurt the flowers and R's chest tightened at how cute it was.

“Nice, Music Mort. You really know how to take care of your shit.”

“Aw Jeez, thanks.” Morty sputtered out a sound of gratitude, nearly dropping the bud in his fingers. R couldn’t help the proud smile that spread across his face. Morty knew how to take care of his weed.

“You ever taken any other drugs, Mort?” Rick continued to tell Morty about the bud as the teen loaded it into the pipe, “This strain’s a sweet little far-out rush.”

“Yeah, but I don't know what they were. Grandpa Rick gave them to me.” Morty trailed but quickly recovered, “I tried smoking once. It was okay. I don’t really like alcohol. But I like weed a lot.”

Morty passed the unlit bong to R, and the stoner looked at Morty with a suddenly stupefied expression.

“F-first greens,” Morty muttered with a smile that blushed crimson while his clover eyes blossomed into a welcoming world of color. The quiet chorus of his soft laughter played over the heavyhearted heartstrings of R’s heart all over again, and he felt a slight sputtering kick of a resin-ating high.

Smoking with Morty had always made R feel like he could _truly turn on, tune in, and drop out._

“I-I'll pick the music.” Morty shyly retreated his gaze away from R, as if he had just offered the stoner a bouquet of bud. R carefully brought the flame to the lip’s edge and dusted a corner with the flame. The flowering bud wilted into its death as a tangle of roots climbed from its ashes. The fresh growth threaded into the bong water where new flowers blossomed, bursting into bright white blooms within the glass.

R gently sucked the mouth of the bong, watching as the mustard yellow smoke bubbled into the glass chamber. Resisting the urge to selfishly take the biggest hit he could, R lifted the stem and remembered to breathe as he drew the smoke into his lungs.

He passed the bong to Morty, as the wildflower weed continued to encroach R’s bong, and R exhaled, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart as it searched for oxygen and life.

The stoner was filled with an existential desire to die a hundred times before the feeling in his chest warmed into an equally existential love of discovering himself alive enough to watch the universe breathe and move around him.

R licked his lips and sucked his cheeks into the hollow of his mouth as a sudden biological need overwhelmed his senses: the carnal desire to form a connection with something in the universe.

The Glorzo’s were still a face-hugging species, but instead of taking full control of their organic hosts, the neural-altering parasites had evolved, choosing to satisfy and express their own biological needs into something a little more creative than _the way things had always been done_.

It was more politically complicated than a simple aphrodisiac, but R felt himself sucking on his bottom lip as his erection swelled like the blooming bong flowers, and he shamelessly palmed himself in full view of the stoner circle, enjoying the wave of randiness that blew his mind while calling on him _suck hard_ on something.

“Fuck R,” Rick expectedly interrupted his high, listening to the song playing on Morty’s phone, “You still make money every time someone plays something on this?”

Morty coughed out a stream of smoke and passed the bong flowers to Rick, curious about the question. He passed the pipe to Rick, and the two shared gazes as they held onto the same drug. R’s grip gently released the glass, uncomfortable with the feelings of guilt stirring in the back of his mind. Rick took a small hit from the bong, mostly clearing out the smoke that had built in the glass chamber. R spread his legs, grateful that he hadn’t hogged a huge hit.

“Rwire wasn’t meant to take over like this. I’ve got a problem with the algorithms, they just do whatever they want with it now, but yeah. Still getting my cut.”

Rick nudged his silent partner who chuckled, taking the pipe, “How would it be to make an honest living on _passive income_? No wonder all R does is lay around, jerk off and get high all day.”

“We're livin' in the bleeding jaws of capitalism,” R rolled his eyes, “A Rick doesn't need to be a genius forever. They just gotta sell one solid idea, and for some stupid reason, mine was figuring out how to make a living on ripping interdimensional music I didn’t even create. _It’s fucking gross._ ”

“Yeah,” Rick teased, “so gross that you can own an unprofitable record store on the Citadel.”

“You make money with Rwire?” Music Morty took the pipe from Silent Morty as realization washed over him. R realized he’d never mentioned it to Morty. For the record, he’d _never mentioned it to anyone because it made him feel like some Shitadel sellout._ Rick and Morty just got around.

“Yeah.” R kept his answer short. He still had mixed feelings about the technology that was the future of interdimensional music streaming. Rick interjected, intentionally waiting for Morty to have a full lung of smoke before spilling what he knew.

“R doesn’t just make money off of it, Music Mort. _He invented it_.”

Morty choked on the smoke, nearly doubling over himself at the revelation. R spilled an unguarded laugh remembering the first time he’d smoked with the teen. He passed the mug of cold coffee, which the teen happily accepted.

“C’mon Morty, the way this Rickhole runs his business? You think he’s getting by—making a living slinging _fucking plastic?"_

A lot had changed around how Rick and Silent Morty decided they wanted to do business, but the earlier tension between them had been broken and dissolved with the first hit. R chewed his cheek as the high fully settled over him and he sucked the piece of flesh in his mouth as he noticed the visible bulge between his legs. Fuck. He’d suck himself if he could. R turned his attention back to Rick and Music Morty, defending the honor of his record store.

“Hey! Panhandling vinyl is a living more honest than streaming services.”

R still wasn’t ready to tell Music Morty about his previous relationship fuck ups. R had built the interdimensional streaming platform with the help of Radio Rick, and his Record Store had been saved because of it, but the radio personality refused to take his share of earnings _on principle_ because R had broken up with him. Despite everything that had happened between them, Radio Rick was still in love with R. Still sending messages to him over the radio waves. R had left every one of them unanswered. He hadn't been good for Radio.

“Heh, between us two Rickbuds” Rick suddenly in an earnestly good mood, wrapped an arm around R’s shoulders as he leaned further into the stoner’s personal space, “We’re the _last_ pair to judge what kind of living is an _honest_ one.”

“Aw, Jeez. That’s really cool, R!” Morty’s hand slipped in between R’s fingers, and the teen sighed out an aural sound as the high bloomed across his face in the color of a sensual red.

“I like, use that app every day at work.”

Time seemed to slow as R watched the redhead sucking on his own bottom lip, unaware of himself. R took a second hit from the bong flowers, blowing out a stream of floral ochre smoke as he tried to pass the pipe to Music Morty. Distracted, the teen was laughing at something that Rick said, but R didn’t hear whatever it was, because the music of Morty’s laughter was still ringing in his ears, filtering into existence like the momentary bursts of light in the space they had come together to share.

Light defined every characteristic of one’s experience with reality. It was something so obvious and simple, while at the same time so indescribably complex, and drawn by the magnetizing force of the universe which had pulled the vibrating presence of their existences together, R reached out to pinch Morty’s chin and drew the teens eyes toward him.

The beats of R’s rhythmic heart painfully sounded between them as it danced through the kaleidoscopic emotions of fear and peace and harmony and love. He leaned into Morty’s luminescence, wanting to experience the vibrant sounds and colors of his being.

“R?” the crimson whisper of Morty’s lips fluttered against R’s own, and brave enough to love, the stoner moved through space and time to connect with his being. He drew their lips together in search of everything he had ever dared to want.

He wanted love.

R trailed his fingertips down the redhead's neck, his gentle touch drawing in Morty's breath until the featherlight pressure of practiced fingers drifted across Morty's collarbone to coax out a musical sigh.

Every touch. Every moment. Every kiss between them. It was everything R had expected sharing it with Music Morty to feel like.

It felt redemptive.

The rhythm of his pulsing heart, the soft noises of his sighs. Morty was music manifest, and every measure of time his life sang out pierced R to the very core of his being. Morty stilled into R’s kiss as they communed in silence, and brought his hand to R’s cheek as they sweetly sucked on each other’s faces.

Breathless, R pulled away from Morty’s lips and shared the truth of the universe which he had found written on them.

“You’re my song.”

· ✦ ·

Morty stumbled out of the record store with an erection he didn’t have time to even think about. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late for his dayshift at the Morty Mart. He caught sight of Rick and Silent Morty, who had returned to their spot on R’s music front, and Morty's face glowed with embarrassment as they exchanged glances.

“Aw Jeez. Uh. S-Sorry about...” Morty stared at the ground, dying inside as he called to mind the impromptu face sucking session R had carelessly pulled Morty into. The morning’s sexual tension had boiled over, and in full view of their dealers, they had shamelessly sucked face. Rick and Silent Morty silently excused themselves from the moment and Morty was so embarrassed with himself that he couldn’t even call it what it was (even though they all knew). His lips were still red and painfully swollen.

“...About that.”

He awkwardly stuffed his hand into his pocket to adjust himself, slightly thankful that the alarm on his phone had interrupted their smoke-slash-makeout session. The morning had left a lot of unanswered questions hanging over them, and Morty really wanted to talk with R before they got caught up with each other again. Rick grinned and acknowledged Morty’s apology by changing the subject entirely.

“Thanks for lookin’ out for R last night. He’s lucky to have a Morty like you.”

“Aw Jeez,” Morty carefully closed the glass door to the record store, hearing the chime sound behind him, “I’m not his Morty.”

He didn’t want to leave R alone today, but he had to go to work. Morty reluctantly stepped down from the curb, splitting his gaze between the record storefront and his new... drug dealers?

“Y-you’ll be here today, right?”

“You know it!” Rick read the unspoken emotions traveling Morty’s expression, “C’mere real fast.”

Morty glanced at the time on his phone, before approaching the storefront loiterers. Rick was busy scribbling something on a piece of paper. He looked up and extended it toward him.

“Use it if you need a hookup,” Rick poked his finger Morty’s chest, “Or some backup.”

Morty stared at the phone number in silence. He’d never been allowed to have another Rick’s phone number. But things were different now. He nodded his head and retrieved his phone to dial in Rick and Silent Morty as a contact.

“I didn’t know you had a phone.” Morty had never seen the dealers talking on the phone. But that was because R hated phones.

Rick laughed and revealed his handheld Nokia device, “New number every week!”

Morty frowned at the thought of having to change their number from his phone that often, but he guessed it was the necessary precaution of selling illegal substances on the Citadel.

“And I can…” As he thought of the responsibility they had given him, Morty’s cheeks flushed anew at the thought, “Buy from you? For R?”

"Let me give you some Rick-advice, Music Mort, cause R wasn’t wrong back there,” Rick crouched down to meet Morty at eye level, “We do our best to build a relationship on trust and we run this operation on the down low. But even on our best business day, this shit still is what it is. If you’re buying for R, you can't forget you're _distributing to_ him. My advice? Upcharge the hell out of it. Make him pay for your personal, cause felonies on the Citadel aren't free."

"F-Felonies?" Morty stammered, and Rick shook his shoulder with a sudden laugh.

"First degree, baby!" Rick defensively held his hands up, directing his attention to his silent partner.

"But that’s just my advice whether you take it or leave it. At the end of the day, I’m just the customer service arm of my Morty’s operation. This little shit here’s the dealer, and he’s the one who makes the final calls.” Rick patted his silent partner’s cap, bobbing the teen’s head with a smile. To demonstrate, Rick playfully tried to grab at Silent Morty’s backpack, and the Morty clutched it tightly to his chest, pivoting his torso away with an equally teasing chuckle.

“Am I allowed to ask you guys about what…” Morty began, carefully stepping around the question he wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t supposed to ask. “The Labcoat Rick who was here a few days ago...what happened to him?”

Rick’s expression grew serious and he shrugged, tossing his back against the glass wall as he folded his arms in a sudden standoffish demeanor. He pulled a swisher out of his pocket, allowing it to hang, unlit, between his fingers.

He offered the pointed nonverbal-answer, before giving in to Morty with a sigh, “Fucker bled out all over our shit, is what happened to him,” Rick paused in a calculating moment of contemplation before deciding to trust Morty with the answer he had wanted, “But nah...we didn’t kill him. R might’ve after he saw you. But we didn’t.”

Morty took a deep breath, thankful to be able to talk about it with someone other than the record store owner. He timidly wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck before sharing his honest thoughts with Rick, “I-I’ve never seen R like that.”

“Takes a lot, but he’s still a Rick.” Rick lit the swisher, bringing the cigarillo to his lips as Morty looked on with confusion toward the action. At the Morty Mart, Rick had insisted that he didn’t smoke, and Morty couldn’t help but wonder if something had changed since then.

Morty didn’t think Rick was going to answer any more questions about Labcoat Rick. Instead, Morty avoided Ricks’s gaze, and guilt crept into his chest as he spilled the fearful question that had been hanging over him for days “Is R like that? A lot?”

Rick exhaled a stream of smoke, staring hard at Morty, then glanced toward his silent partner who offered no direction for him to take. The Rick chewed his lips in momentary thought before extinguishing the swisher in his open palm. He only needed a single drag.

“You gotta long minute?” Rick asked and Morty checked the time on his phone before nodding.

“We’ve been squatting this storefront for a while.” Rick’s body slid downward as it pressed against the storefront’s glass, perching himself on the subtle brick windowsill. Silent Morty stepped closer to joined him against the glass. “Life stays simple and we try to stay clean. Feel me?”

“I, Uh…” Morty began and Rick rolled his eyes, interrupting whatever he was going to say.

“Let’s try that again. I’m end-stage with my shit.” Rick stared hard into Morty’s still lost expression, “You know _that_ means?”

Morty shook his head, admitting that he didn’t and Rick let out a bitter _how-would-it-be_ -laugh as he rolled the swisher between his fingers.

“It means that in the last couple of years I ain’t been sober for more than a few months at a time.” Rick clarified, “Every time I use, I’m fucking around with death, and the last time I relapsed, I ODed four times in that same week.”

“Because y-you drank too much?” Morty mentally filled in the gaps of Rick's story and Rick earnestly laughed out loud at the teen’s lack of understanding. Morty blushed in embarrassment, unable to help but feel that his dumbness about this kind of stuff was okay. It was what his dealer liked most about him.

“Oh, Music Mort. No wonder R’s trippin’ so damn hard over you.” Rick teased before continuing to enlighten Morty.

“Sure, I was an alcoholic before I was a junkie, but opiates and alcohol don’t mix–for _most_ Ricks. Decided I didn’t wanna be an alcoholic anymore, n’ so I took my life into my own hands: broke the cycle and traded hard liquor for heroin.”

Morty’s head turned to Silent Morty whose lips had thinned into a tight line of unspoken emotion. He stared hard at the sidewalk as his Rick casually laughed about his struggles with substance abuse and overdosing.

“R’s addicted to his own vices.” Rick observed sensing Silent Morty’s discomfort and switching the focus back to the Rick Morty had specifically asked about, “‘N’ addicts don’t deny that they’re using, Mort. They deny that it’s hurting others.”

“But last night was...” Morty defensively trailed, looking to Rick for some kind of confirmation of what he wanted to believe. He was still struggling to make sense of the last few days, and of his own emotions surrounding them.

“I think R’s doing okay now.” He insisted, and Rick’s frown was immediate and full of concern.

“Change doesn’t happen like that, Mort, and you need to know, right now, that there’s no _Rick-bottom_ that’s gonna suddenly turn R’s life around.”

Rick let out a caustic laugh, “All you’re gonna find there is a shit-ton of old habits that are hard as hell to break—some days I ain’t even tryin’.”

Silent Morty was wringing his hands, increasingly anxious about where the conversation was heading. Rick reached out to him, wrapping a firm hand around the back of his silent partner’s neck as he pulled the boy closer to his side. He stared at the unfinished cigar with a self-conscious frown and handed it off to his silent partner. It was time to wrap up their conversation.

“A-anyways, look. What I’m saying is this: R slipped, but he ain’t relapsed.”

Even though he still had questions, Morty bit his lip and nodded. Silent Morty was anxious and Rick was done talking. Morty understood his silent counterpart’s reaction, however. He was also still internally reeling from the past few days. He wasn’t ready to really think about it either.

He turned away from the pair of dealers to stare in the direction he had thrown R's flask.

“Aw Jeez.” Morty began, grabbing the bend of his arm as he apologized for stressing Morty out, “I’m sorry, Morty. I’m worried about my Rick too, I guess.”

Morty nodded in understanding, forgiving him as Rick offered his final thoughts on the matter. They both wanted what was best for Morty, and all three of them didn’t want R to fuck this up.

“R’s afraid right now.” Rick confessed his shared perspective with the Record store owner, “On his best days, that violent version of him is all he thinks he is. On his worst days, it’s all he hopes to be. The next couple days are gonna be rough...but if you need us...for anything,” Rick pointed to the piece of paper in Morty’s hand, and Morty nodded, suddenly understanding the gesture as much more meaningful than he had originally interpreted it to be.

“Thanks,” Morty uttered, still not knowing how to accept Rick and Silent Morty’s gesture of support. But he was grateful that he didn’t feel like he was going into this alone. He flipped the piece of paper over, scribbling his own number onto it as he struggled against the automatic reaction of panic for giving out the digits which had only ever been for Rick and work.

He turned to walk down the street, parting from the duo with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t let yourself get addicted to the chaos,” Rick called after Morty as he picked up his pace. He was going to be late for work if he didn't hurry.

“No one’s here by accident.”

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to check out the detailed musicology and endnotes over on the [ Fic Page ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/kaleidoscopic.html)
> 
> ###  The Starry Citadel AU
> 
> [ ✦ Fic Endnotes ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/kaleidoscopic.html)   
>  [ ✦ Fic Musicology](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/kaleidoscopic.html)   
>  [ ✦ Youtube Pop-culture Playlist ](https://youtu.be/IPSzTBP5PAU%22)   
>  [ ✦ Follow Along Playlist on Spotify ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/08f5dDiKoCnIrhrcekDx4m?si=mcgvjQ70TY6-Kom0c_mfDg)   
> 
> 
> ### Kudos & Comments = ❤


End file.
